CHAPTER 6 #2
Hell, even without them, he'd still be a fucking giant. He's the one who hits when something needs hitting. It's cold and efficient.
Where Neo and I are complete fuckers who enjoy chaos loud and proud, Varek is the kind who could break every bone in your body before you even realized what happened... then go right back to standing there with that calm, unreadable face, waiting for my next order.
That's terrifying, even for me.
“Well, boss,” Neo says, cutting through the screams. “When do we finally get to break some fingers?”
Varek doesn't say a word, but his stance shifts almost imperceptibly.
I glance at them before looking back at the two men hanging from the chains.
“Well, it depends,” I tilt my head. “Do they have my credits?”
The redhead with green streaks in his hair and a neck implant starts thrashing against the chains.
“Come on, man!” he shouts, swinging helplessly. “We're gonna pay you back!”
“Yeah, man! No need to go this far!” the white-haired one adds, his voice shaking despite his attempt to sound tough.
I sigh and a disappointed smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
“Remind me, Varek.” I motion for him to tell me “How long have they had?"
“A month.” His voice is flat and final.
“Right.” I snap my fingers as I speak. “A month.”
I crouch in front of them. Even like this, I'm still too tall to be eye level with either of them.
“I usually give people two weeks.” I tsk under my breath, shaking my head “But I was feeling generous back then.”
I reach out and wrap my hand around the redhead's throat.
Ten seconds, that's all it takes.
His face turns red as he desperately tries to suck in air.
“Now,” I lean closer until my mouth is inches from his face. “I'm not feeling generous anymore.”
My grip tightens.
“I'm the leader of Crimson Velocity—the second gang in Kairo-9” I smile. “And I always get my credits back.”
I let go with a slight shove.
He folds over as much as the chains allow, coughing violently while dragging desperate breaths into his lungs.
“Neo.”
“Yeah, boss?” He grins.
“Break one of his fingers.” I glance at the man's trembling tied hand. “His favorite one, if you can.”
“With fucking pleasure.” Neo's grin widens.
He steps forward as the redhead thrashes wildly. Neo grabs his restrained hand.
“No! Please! No!”
Crack.
His index finger snaps sideways, the scream that rips out of him is raw with pain.
Then he starts crying.
They always do once they realize they're fucked.
I slowly turn toward the other one.
One eyebrow lifts as I notice liquid running down his body. Is he... pissing himself?
The stream runs straight into his own mouth, an occupational hazard of hanging upside down.
I grimace and take a step back.
That's disgusting and pathetic.
“Varek,” I say, straightening up and cracking my neck. “The one who pissed himself,” I nod toward the white-haired man.
“Break his ankle.” I say it deadpan, already turning away. “And collect the debt. Five thousand credits each. They have it. Ren's been hacking them and keeping tabs on them for days.”
Varek steps forward, uncrossing his arms. The reinforced muscles beneath his skin tense as he reaches for the man's ankle.
Crack.
The bone snaps cleanly and the scream follows instantly.
I leave before it has a chance to echo out of the warehouse. I trust them to collect the money and clean up the mess.
I head for my Charger—Her black-and-red body, scarred from countless collisions, gleams beneath the lights of the Lower Layers—far less obnoxious than the ones flooding the Upper Districts.
The Upper Layers have this obsession with making everything look perfect—ads, robots, holograms everywhere, so much sensory overload it feels like your brain is short-circuiting.
The exposed components emphasize function over perfection.
Exactly how I like it.
I slide inside and fire her up, the Charger roars to life.
That sound is so damn satisfying. I feel like a kid with a new toy every time.
I peel away in a drift, smoke curling in my wake, and tear toward my place, ignoring every speed limit.
Sliding through what little traffic remains, the Lower Layers streak across my windshield like some kind of fucked-up movie.
I might be doing ninety miles an hour.
I love it.
The engine, the chaos and the speed, this is when I feel alive.
I make it home in less than ten minutes.
I park my Charger in the garage and take the stairs up to my apartment. I slam my finger against the locking pad, and the door slides open.
I step inside and the door slides shut behind me, the lock engaging automatically.
One open-plan space.
Kitchen, living area and an elevated sleeping platform with no walls, just a short flight of steps.
It's more than enough. I'm alone most of the time, and it's plenty big enough for women to come and go.
The red neon from my bedroom spills across the rest of the apartment.
I don't bother taking off my boots. I head straight for the fridge, grab a Nitro can, crack it open, and drain it in one go.
My comm buzzes.
I pull it from my pocket as two messages appear.
Neo: “We took care of the mess, Evren. That was fucking funny. Watching them cry like little bitches.”
Varek: “We have the credits.”
I don't reply but my shoulders relax a little.
I grab another can and take slower sips.
My mind drifts back to that girl from the Upper Layers. Why the fuck didn't she ask me for help?
She was drunk, barefoot, cornered like an animal, and he saw me.
She punched a guy who could've snapped her in half. She should've wanted, needed or at the very least, fucking asked for help.
Any sane woman would've. Instead, she ran right past me like I was a piece of forgotten trash.
She probably didn't even acknowledge my presence or maybe she deliberately ignored me.
My grip tightens around the can until my knuckles turn white.
The metal caves beneath my fingers with a sharp crunch.
If she doesn't need help, that's good for her.
See if I give a shit.
I'll probably never see her again, she is an Upper, probably a spoiled brat like Lira. It doesn't matter that she didn't ask me for help.